


Glasses

by abp



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abp/pseuds/abp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac didn't know Combeferre had glasses. It's a nice surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glasses

**Author's Note:**

> This is based entirely on a [headcanon/prompt thing by drunkpylades](http://drunkpylades.tumblr.com/post/59186258667/i-want-a-moder-au-where-combeferre-wear-lenses-and) that I think is phenomenal. Obviously.
> 
> This was written in about an hour and only very quickly edited, so mistakes are probably a thing. Finally, the rating is for discussion of sex (Courfeyrac is a dirty narrator); no actual sex happens. Sorry.

Courfeyrac is upset when he wakes. He’s upset partially because he’s awake and he can _feel_ in his bones that it’s too early for a being to willingly be awake, but he’s also upset because he’s alone in this big, fluffy bed that isn’t his. He’s not supposed to be alone; he’s supposed to be squished next to Combeferre amongst the masses of pillows ( _seriously_ how many pillows does one man need? Not to mention the mountain of blankets he had to kick off in the night to avoid heat stroke). But he’s not. Combeferre is missing and it’s _upsetting_. Courfeyrac decides, after an attempt to stretch out and get comfortable alone in the bed, that he’ll just have to find Combeferre and give him a stern talking to until he comes back to bed.

When he finds Combeferre in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a coffee mug in one hand and a newspaper in the other, he’s halfway to voicing his displeasure when he notices the glasses on Combeferre’s face and feels his mouth go dry. They’re nothing particularly special—squared frames, black, cheap looking—but something about them is perfect. Maybe they emphasize his cheekbones or maybe they just make him look like a hot academic and Courfeyrac has a _huge_ kink for that, either way Courfeyrac doesn’t care (although it’s probably the latter). All he knows is that he wants to pin Combeferre down and fuck him while he’s still wearing those glasses or get down on his knees and suck him off, seeing him look down through them or maybe the reverse with Combeferre looking up through his glasses with his lips around— _shit_.

“Courfeyrac?” Combeferre’s voice is colored with amusement and he’s biting at his lip, eyebrow quirked up.

Courfeyrac can only manage to make a strangled noise. He’s regretting the fact that he’s only wearing boxers. Thankfully, even though Courfeyrac sees Combeferre’s eyes flicker downward, Combeferre tactfully ignores the situation.

“Are you alright?”

It only makes sense that Combeferre would think he’s crazy, seeing as he’s standing frozen without so much as saying good morning or otherwise announcing his arrival to the kitchen. Courfeyrac actually has to wonder how long he was standing before Combeferre noticed him.

He tries to answer an affirmative, but can only gape at the way Combeferre’s beautiful, warm, hazel eyes look behind his thick frames. Courfeyrac nods instead.

Thankfully Combeferre has endless patience. Even though he does look a little frazzled and almost nervous, certainly edgy, at the moment. “Come and have breakfast,” he insists, gesturing to the chair across from him.

Courfeyrac nods again and stumbles to the table, letting out a little squeak when he sits down and Combeferre looks directly at him only _closer_. Oh God, it’s so much better up close and Courfeyrac’s pretty sure he can feel his brain melting.

“You’re sure you’re alright?” Combeferre hesitates, biting at his lip again (and Courfeyrac wants to shriek, he looks _so attractive_ ). “Last night wasn’t weird, was it? I mean, I know I’m not the best bedmate—“

“Oh my god no,” Courfeyrac chokes out, waving frantically. “Stop there, you are perfect. Literal perfection. Last night was amazing and I want it to happen again and again—at your place, at mine, at a stranger’s if that’s what you want. I just want you sleeping with me, in every sense of the word.” He’s babbling and he knows it, but he can’t stop. “I mean, obviously you already know I like the sex part. But the spending the night part? That was awesome too, I’m glad we do that now. Let’s keep doing that.”

Combeferre’s mouth is turned up in the corners, like a grin is threatening to take over, and his shoulders are shaking a little with repressed laughter. Courfeyrac can’t find it in himself to be offended by the gorgeous god of a man sitting across from him ( _damn those beautiful glasses!_ ).

“Will you eat? I’m starting to worry about you,” Combeferre finally says, looking fond and sounding a little shy. Shy like when they first met three months ago and Courfeyrac had hit on him in Portuguese only to have Combeferre look up from his book (and who brought a book to a bar anyway?), blink in surprise, and _respond_ _in Portuguese_. He can still remember the soft hesitance behind Combeferre’s witty comeback; he can hear just that in Combeferre’s voice now. And he wants to kiss it away because they aren’t strangers anymore. He wants nothing more than Combeferre’s trusting voice, where each syllable tastes like honey or his teasing voice where the words curl like the corners of his mouth. Anything _familiar_.

But Courfeyrac can’t voice that, not with those glasses still in view. Instead, he nods again and very seriously pours some cereal into a bowl. He doesn’t particularly _like_ cereal, but it’s out in front of him and right now he doesn’t quite trust himself to try to find other food—let alone make anything. Besides, it’s Combeferre’s apartment and therefore Combeferre’s choice.  

He eats slowly, chewing each mouthful meticulously as he indiscreetly stares at Combeferre. He still can’t put it in to words, the way he feels, so he stares and chews until he thinks maybe he has a few words. Combeferre is very patient the whole time.

“Since when do you wear glasses?” he eventually asks, dropping his spoon into the cereal bowl with a small splash.

Combeferre’s eyebrows raise. “ _That’s_ what this is about?”

“You look,” Courfeyrac makes a frustrated noise, waving a hand vaguely. “There aren’t really words. ‘Delectable’ is probably the closest.”

Combeferre’s cheeks go rosy. “I—I have since I was a kid,” he clears his throat. “I normally wear contacts, though.”

“Seriously? All this time and I didn’t _know_?”

“I don’t like how I look in them,” Combeferre shrugs, looking embarrassed.

Courfeyrac makes a wounded noise. He doesn’t get it, but he imagines there are years of reasons behind it so he doesn’t ask. He focuses on telling instead. “You look like you should be writhing and moaning under me, that’s how you look.”

Combeferre bites at his lip, but in a very different way this time. Courfeyrac knows this to be the ‘I am seriously turned on’ sort of lip-biting. “We just got out of bed.” He’s not arguing though, merely testing the waters. Courfeyrac smirks.

“And I’m still angry at you for leaving me alone in bed,” Courfeyrac supplies. “The least you can do is let me fuck you until you can’t remember your name—with those god damn glasses on.”

Combeferre breathes in harshly, his eyes dark. “Okay.”

“ _Thank God.”_ Courfeyrac is on his feet in an instant, grabbing Combeferre’s hand and dragging him back towards the bedroom.

Combeferre has the nerve to laugh, but Coufeyrac is too occupied thanking everything for his boyfriend’s poor eyesight to properly care. He does care just enough to mentally swear to make Combeferre understand just how absolutely hot he looks with glasses (hotter than anything in the world) and how wrecked it makes Courfeyrac feel. It’s a lesson Courfeyrac can get behind.

(Two weeks later, Combeferre wears those glasses with a cardigan that has fucking _elbow patches_ and Courfeyrac loses his mind completely).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The thing about Librarians](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005490) by [Missmomo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missmomo/pseuds/Missmomo)




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